Chapters
by takeitandrun
Summary: Mitchie Torres is a bestselling author, whose book is being turned into a movie. Problem is, she's not a big fan of the male lead.
1. One

She needed coffee.

Her heels were barely audible over the hum of New Yorkers; in her blue coat and jeans, she blended perfectly with the busy streets.

Mitchie's phone chirped with a new message. She quickly texted Caitlyn back, saying that _yes_, she'd be there for her party. And _no_, she did not want to go on a blind date.

It was still snowing. Usually, when she had time, Mitchie loved to just sit down somewhere to watch the white dots land on ground. Today was not one of those days.

Firstly, she'd just managed to find a date for her second book's launch. Secondly, Nate was nagging at her to start writing the damn sequel. Thirdly, she _still_ hadn't called Luke back about his ideas for the cast of the movie they were making based on the first one.

Honestly, Mitchie was getting tired of being a published author. Maybe she should've stuck to writing only for herself.

She pushed a door open and shook out the cold as she entered the lobby. Ed, the doorman, raised an eyebrow at her and Mitchie rolled her eyes with a slight smile.

A sign over the elevators read _'Camp Rock Publishing'_. The secretary, a young girl whose name Mitchie had no intention on knowing, was busy on the phone.

Before someone could show up, Mitchie threw herself into the elevator and pressed the 75th button. She steeled herself for the big entrance.

The first person to appear when the doors opened was Tess Tyler.

"Oh God, you're finally here!" she said, throwing her hands up. Tess took her by the arm down the grey hallway. "Brown's been looking all over for you."

"Hey, Tess." Mitchie drawled. "I'm having a great morning, and you?"

Tyler glared at her, but the writer couldn't be intimidated by the rushed blond. When she'd first arrived to CRP, Mitchie found the woman downright terrifying; then her first book was a bestseller.

They got to the last door. Through the glass, Mitchie could see the silhouette of the owner of the building. Tess unceremoniously opened the door and shoved Mitchie in.

Cesario Brown hadn't changed a bit since he and Mitchie first met. He had this crazy genius aura about him, the kind that scared you and reeled you in at the same time.

He turned around from his position looking out the grand windows. His office's carpet was wine red and his bookshelves were dark and brimming with books. Mitchie was able to see the NY skyline from her spot.

"Good morning." Brown sat on his leather chair. He looked at her with musky eyes. "How are you?"

"I haven't had coffee, if that's what you're asking." She deadpanned. He chuckled. "But I'm fine, I guess."

She sat down, opposite from him. Brown's feet were propped up on his desk, and he already moved to slide a cup of black coffee towards her.

Despite being only 24, Mitchie had built a name for herself in that industry. It meant that, not only she didn't have to put up with anyone's bullshit, but she could also _be_ brooding and cranky for as long as she liked.

Most of the time, she wasn't annoyed; it was fun to get all of Brown's subordinates edgy and frightened.

Brown, though, knew her. They were friends from the very moment he decided to give her manuscript a look. He looked out for her, as the closest thing Mitchie had to a father.

Mitchie gladly took the coffee. "So, what's up?"

"You know how Luke's been bothering me about the movie deal, right?"

"Yeah, he's almost as bad as Nate."

Brown cracked a smile. "Well, Nate's your brother."

"Unfortunately. But yes, what about Luke?"

"He says he's got the perfect guy to play Jesse."

"You're kidding."

He shook his head and lit up a cigarette. Mitchie wrinkled her nose but kept quiet.

Her book, _The Caller_, was a sci-fi thriller set on the distant future. Very distant; in fact, the main character, Jesse Raglan, was a spaceship pilot on a faraway galaxy. She described him as an innocent-looking guy, with frame glasses and a crooked nose. Problem was that, every time Luke said he had a contestant, the guy was _very_ handsome (like Chris Hemsworth handsome) or really buff (again, Chris Hemsworth). Jesse was a geek; he didn't leave his ship, he did no exercises, he solved 5000+ puzzles on his hologram TV.

Mitchie had a clear image of how she wanted her character portrayed, and she refused to let her project become something completely different . If it was up to Luke, _The Caller_ would end up like _The Lightning Thief_.

Or the fifth Harry Potter movie.

Mitchie was not happy with the news. "Great. What's this guy's name?"

"Shane Gray."


	2. Two

**So, hi! Thank you for giving this story a shot. I've never posted a multi-chapter before, so please feel free to review and point out any flaws. And to _hannah_, who's a guest so I couldn't answer by PM, they haven't met at Camp Rock. Mitchie was more into writing than singing, for reasons I'll explain later on.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.  
**

* * *

"The _singer_?" Mitchie squeaked. "Does he know this isn't a musical?"

He shrugged. "How should I know? Luke never tells me anything. The point is that he's interested, and wants to pay you a visit."

"Oh, that's just great." She groaned. "Twenty minutes with the popstar kid? No, I think I'll pass."

"I'm rather fond of the idea, truthfully speaking." Brown told her, straightening up on his chair.

"_What?_"

"I've never seen him act, but he does look like your Jesse."

"I'll give you that. But Gray is a singer. He's not an actor, and he's certainly not a bookworm kind of guy. I doubt he's ever read anything other than the back of his CDs."

"But," Brown tried, "Think of the fanbase this would bring. He's almost as famous as Bieber; imagine the publicity."

Mitchie rubbed her face. "I don't like this."

"Try, at least."

"The guy's a fucking idiot, you know that." She kept going. "I don't think he's capable of being professional, even if he tried. And he hits on every woman he meets."

"Think about it. Let me know tomorrow, alright?"

Mitchie sighed.

* * *

"Shane Gray." Caitlyn rolled her eyes as she handed her a glass of wine. "That's unexpected."

They were at Caitlyn's apartment. It was smaller than Mitchie's, but it had its charms; an uncovered brick wall, purple carpeting, exposed wires.

Caity was a painter. They'd met in Columbia, during Caitlyn's first year in NY. Mitchie had grown up there, but had just returned home from Rome; they bonded instantly. Now, she had an art gallery in downtown, and a few more comfy investments. But, even though she was well-off, Caitlyn loved the atmosphere of a rundown building and cramped spaces. As a weird person herself, Mitchie was hardly one to judge.

"Do you think I should meet him?" she said, biting her lip. "Because Luke might be right, even as shocking as it seems to be?"

Caitlyn pondered. _Miss Congeniality_ played in the background. They were perched in her little red couch, facing each other. "I'd see him."

"But _why_? I mean, you've seen the news. He's rude and obnoxious; he treats everyone like garbage. How am I supposed to trust him to do my life's work justice?"

They sat through the whole movie. Caitlyn knew all the lines.

* * *

The next day, Nate called her.

"What is this I hear about Shane Gray?" He asked curiously.

Mitchie grabbed her alarm clock and tried to read the time. "Nathan, it is seven o'clock on a freaking Saturday. Leave me alone."

"I'm your agent." He persisted. "I should have been informed."

"Well, now you know."

"He's a tool."

"Yes. I am aware. May I go back to sleep now?"

"He's on the news today. Flipped out on his backing vocals. Gray punched one of them."

She stuffed her face on her pillow. "Yai 'd I eir?"

"What?"

Raising her face from the material, she repeated: "Why do I care?"

"Just tellin' you what you're gettin' into." He replied smoothly.

"I'm just going to tell him no. Unless he's really good and makes me tear up, I don't want a drama queen in my movie."

"That's the spirit." Her little brother was grinning over the line, she was sure of it. "I'll see you later. Go back to sleep."

Mitchie gave him a noncommittal grunt and turned off her phone, slipping back into unconsciousness.

* * *

The morning was just as cold as she'd thought. She put on a dark blue sweater and thick socks; stopped by a Starbucks and found herself a seat at the back.

She set an empty notebook in front of her, in which she started scribbling what would hopefully merge into the first chapter of _The Receiver_.

It was reasonably empty for an hour and a half, when suddenly someone plopped down in front of her.

Mitchie looked up, slouched on her chair.

"Hello." Shane Gray said, looking almost nervous. "Are you Michelle Torres?"


	3. Three

He _was_ Jesse. Damn it.

Gray's hair was curly and he had some scuffle. His hands were in his pockets, and his brown eyes were curiously fixed on the coffee she held.

To say his shy posture was surprising would be an understatement.

"Um, yeah." Mitchie said. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she gestured for him to sit. "You're Shane Gray?"

"Yes." His posture was just as bad as hers. They looked at each other, Mitchie watching him over the rim of her cup.

"What is it?"

"I wanted to ask you if you'd seen my audition." He said slowly, as if gathering up the courage to turn his thoughts into words.

"No, sadly, I haven't yet." She replied, clicking her pen. Suddenly she felt uncomfortable, sitting in a Starbucks, with a Stormtrooper T-shirt and a woolen coat.

Shane Gray was incredibly famous. He'd sold out Madison Square Garden in less than an hour during his first American Tour; his singles played on a loop every day in every radio. He performed with big names; he'd sung in this year's Grammy Awards- hell, he'd taken home six awards.

So why did he look like a nervous schoolboy in front of her?

"Oh," he blinked. "Okay."

"When I _do_ see it, I'll give you a call." She assured him, without knowing what for. "You left Luke your number?"

He was momentarily stunned. Then he cleared his throat. "May I ask you a question?"

She shrugged. "If it's not indecent, I guess."

"Why aren't you impressed by me?"

Okay, that was it. This guy was weirder than Caitlyn.

"_What?_"

"I mean," he backtracked. "You don't seem to like me any more than you have to. And you've shown no interest in me."

It was too early for this.

"I don't care if you've won things, or sold things." Mitchie glanced outside. "I need an actor who'll play my character perfectly. If you can do that, then I have a reason to like you."

* * *

She lived in a loft. Two bedrooms, a master suite, kitchen, office and a living room. Usually she had no time to evaluate her surroundings; but today, the winter chill ingrained into her bones and wariness clinging to her skin and the loft was too quiet.

Turning on the TV to wish away the silence, Mitchie moved towards the fridge. Maybe she should try and _cook_, for once. But then she saw the takeout temple it had turned into and decided otherwise.

_FRIENDS_ was on and she sat on her couch, scraping her spoon against the bowl's edge. She watched half-heartedly. Her wooden floor felt cold under her feet. The blank walls, once comforting, were at the same time oppressive and relieving. Her couch seemed too big, her house too empty.

Caitlyn's ringtone bounced off the walls and woke her up from her stupor. "Yeah?"

"Girl," Caitlyn growled accusingly. "What is this that I hear about you talking with _Shane Gray_?"

"Oh," Mitchie winced. "_That._ Look, I was going to tell you-"

"Gray? Really? What did he want?"

"Luke wants me to let him do Jesse Raglan." She rubbed her forehead. "He wanted to know if I'd seen his audition."

"So, have you?"

"No. I had meetings all day and then I had to put up with Tess pushing me around from place to place. I'm sorry." Excuses never worked with Caitlyn.

"You should be." She harrumphed.

"How did you find out, anyway?"

"You're kind of all over the news."

Mitchie let out a mix between a whale sound and a dying parrot. She flicked channels until she found her own face staring back at her.

_"Superstar Shane Gray was spotted with a girl!"_

"God no."

The woman on the news kept going. _"She's Mitchie Torres, the writer of the Jesse Raglan series!"_

"Oh, my God." Mitchie repeated, mortified. "There's _pictures_."

"I'm surprised Nate hasn't called you yet." Caitlyn sounded too far away.

A knock on her door sent Mitchie spiraling backwards, clutching her phone. "You jinxed me. I hate you."

Her best friend merely laughed. "Good luck with your little bro, girl. I gotta head out; I have a date."

Mitchie watched herself, in the screen, smile and sign a couple of books for someone. "Yeah, apparently me too."

"Hopefully he hasn't seen it yet."

"Fuck you. Have a nice date."

"I will." Caitlyn hung up with a chuckle.

Mitchie squared her shoulders and, childishly, stomped to her door. Nate stormed in on a flash.

"You're going out with _Shane Gray_?"

She twisted her face up in disgust. "No."

"Then what were you doing at _Starbucks_?" He crossed his arms. Mitchie faltered- he looked like her mother. "Huh?"

"_I_ was writing." She replied. "Dunno what he was doing."

"I want the whole story. Now." Nate said impatiently.

"Well, he just showed up and asked me if I had seen his tape and I said no; then, why didn't I like him, to which I replied. Then he left without a word. But he did buy me a muffin."

"He bought you what?"

"You know- when you put your hands like that, you look like a sassy gay best friend."

Nate glared at her, but she was immune to it by now. He might look threatening when he was annoyed, but Mitchie was a straight-up bitch when she wanted to.

"Look, next time a cute guy talks to me, I'll send you a text so you'll be able to start my wedding preparations." She snapped. "Now, it's late and I wanna finish reading a book and sleep."

"I'm not dealing with your shit alone." He said snippily.

Mitchie rolled her eyes. "Nate, I'm _tired_. You're my agent. Talk to Tess or Ella, they'll help you."

When she mentioned Ella, he seemed to perk up a bit. Ella and Nate were friends since high school, and they worked well together. Professionally, at least.

"So you're not dating Shane?" He repeated, to make sure.

"Yes."

"Okay, fine," He relented. "Just, don't do anything rash or stupid or immoral."

"So I can't go skinny-dipping with Chad Dylan Cooper next weekend?"

He glared at his sister. Nate was a few centimeters taller than Mitchie; his shoulders were broad and strong under the ever-present jacket. His tie was grey and boring, and he looked like an intern at a law firm.

"Have you started the new book yet?" He shifted on the spot and Mitchie noticed the tired lines of his face. "I kinda have the whole fanbase flooding the CRP's contacts."

"Yeah, I have, Nate." She said gently. "I'll let you know when I have the first chapters. Meanwhile, you should go home and sleep; I'll have Tess try to figure out how to get me out of this _Shane Gray_ mess."

"She's not going to like this." But he was already halfway across the room, shoulders sagged.

"All the more reason to do it."

Nate left, closing the door with a soft thud. It was all silence again.


	4. Four

**Hey guys :D Thank you all so much for reviewing this story. I can't explain how happy this feedback is making me. I'd also like to warn you that I won't post a new chapter this weekend, because I need to study. Like, desperately. So, yeah, thanks again (:**

* * *

She watched his audition. Sadly, he was good. His interpretation of page 197, when Jesse decides whether to join the fight against the Dictator or not was the best she'd seen- and there were a lot of applications. Begrudgingly, Mitchie returned to CRP with her acceptance of Luke's suggestion.

"'Ello there," Brown welcomed her in with a knowing smirk. "I trust you've thought about that?"

Indeed, she had. She'd consulted with Caitlyn (who thought it was a brilliant idea and she should take the opportunity and also jump his bones), Nate and Ella. They all considered it marvelous and a perfect way to attract more fans.

Mitchie dropped the file on top of his desk. "Yeah. Whatever. Just make sure you call Dana and tell her we have her romantic interest, 'kay?"

"Luke's going to be very smug about this." Her boss replied, his accent twisting the words around her ears.

"I'll bet. But, at least, this time he has a good reason." Mitchie paused in the doorway. "But I want his ego and Gray's in check. This is _my_ project and we're doing it my way."

Brown winked. "You got it. See ya."

Afterwards, Mitchie went to a bookshop. This was her last week of freedom and moderate anonymity; the second book would come out that weekend, and she'd be stuck in publicity and charity events. With the start of the movie, her next three months would be swamped with flashbulbs. She loved meeting fans; they appreciated her work and were just as passionate about it as she. But she also liked being able to wake up at sunrise, with a cup of coffee or tea and spend the whole day re-watching all the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

The air inside the store was crisp with the smell of old books- Mitchie had grown up around here. Her old High School was just across the street, and everyday her mom couldn't pick her up she'd wander in here. The owner, Axel Turner, was an aspiring musician when she was a kid; but he had thyroid cancer at a young age, and was forced to give up on his dream. Instead of forming a band and becoming famous, Axel settled down close to his family, and hadn't moved since.

He was eccentric, to say the least. Axel had this big, fluffy, triangular-shaped haircut, big sunglasses and dressed like a mobster. Luckily for Mitchie, he'd taken to her, letting her peruse the shop as a child and teen. In exchange, she'd thanked him in her acknowledgments.

In reality, she wanted to launch her first book at Wet Crows, but the man respected his underground street cred (Mitchie rolled her eyes just thinking about it) and demanded her to let it go.

The guy behind the counter was a friend of Mitchie's- Sander gave her a wink and went back to his magazine. She walked around aimlessly for a while, before picking up a Jane Austen and settling by a corner.

Sander soon disrupted her peace. "Hey, Mitchie," he grinned while sliding into a seat opposite her. "I saw you on the papers this morning."

She looked up, taken off-guard. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You 'n' that little pop star guy."

"Oh God, not you too."

"When's the wedding?"

Mitchie glared at him from underneath her lashes. "There's not wedding. Or relationship. Or anything. He just talked to me about the possibility of joining the cast of _The Caller_ and that's it."

Sander hummed. "Why don't I believe you?"

She huffed. "Sander, don't you have someplace to be? Like that Broadway audition?"

His eyes widened in alarm. "Oh shit!"

"You have twenty minutes, bro." She checked her watch. "Nope, make that fifteen."

He scrambled out the door, barely managing to turn the 'open' sign to 'closed'. Mitchie watched, amused, as he dodged cars on the way to the subway at the end of the street.

Now she was alone at the bookstore, with the timid lamp above her head. Mitchie shook her head- how did she always end up alone when she didn't want to?

The moment she finished her thought, her phone rang.

"Torres." She answered reflexively.

"Hey, Joker." Caitlyn greeted cheerfully.

"Ace. What's up?"

"You remember that Barron guy from the party?"

"Yeah- and no, I don't wanna go out with him."

"But Mitchie," she whined. "He's so nice and so cool and he's a successful lawyer-"

"_I'm aware_. It's not like he could stop talking about his damn law firm for five seconds."

"Honey, you need to have some fun." Caitlyn stated in a no-nonsense tone. "I'm tired of you brooding at home, writing depressing bits of stories you'll never put into paper."

Mitchie sighed. "I don't want a lawyer, or a businessman, or an economist. I want someone passionate, fun, _loud_. Someone who understands my love for painting, music and writing."

"Speaking of fun," Caitlyn deviated. "When's the movie starting to shoot?"

"In a few days." Mitchie noticed someone coming closer to the bookstore. "Hey, Ace, someone's coming."

"I know." She said giddily.

"_Caitlyn Marie Geller,_" Mitchie growled. "Who did you send here? How did you know?"

"I may have encountered Sander at the subway and he told me you were at the Wet Crows. And Tess called me- Shane Gray's looking for you."

"Oh no. No, no. You didn't. Couldn't you just give him my number? Think about the press-"

Too late, Caitlyn had hung up. And Gray's eager and, at the same time, terrified face surged from the fog, his hand reaching hesitantly to knock on the door.


	5. Five

**I'm so, so sorry for taking so long to update. Real life caught up with me.**

* * *

"Hey, Gray." She said warily. "Come in."

He nodded, trying to leave the cold at the doorstep by furiously shaking his head. Shane Gray's hair was longer than she's expected; he most likely hadn't brushed it or ran his hands through it too many times for it to stay immaculate like the last time she'd seen him.

Again, he looked terribly nervous around her. Mitchie guided them to another sofa, away from the windows, where no-one would notice them. Then, she sat on a deep green armchair and, amused, watched him fidget across her seat.

"What brings you here?"

"Um, I-" He cleared his throat. "I wanted to thank you. For giving me the part. I was really excited about it."

"Well, you're welcome, I guess. I wouldn't have said yes if I thought you couldn't do it."

The conversation lulled. Mitchie frowned. "You know, you're not the person I expected you to be."

"Excuse me?" He was surprised.

"The media portrays you as a cocky, egotistical jerk," she said, straightforward. "But you seem, _nice_."

Grey's eyes focused briefly in his hands, before turning back up to face her. "May I tell you something?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not that guy. The Shane Gray who lashes out at assistants or directors and flips out seconds before a concert." He swallowed. "When I got famous a few years ago, I was so green and optimistic. I thought I could make it being myself, not having to change. But Lava Records had other wanted me to _become_ a star. They changed my musical style for the cookie-cutter popstar stuff that, they said, '_actually sells'_ and chose how I should act, who I should become friends with. I'm just a kid from New Jersey, not this idiot they've turned me into."

Mitchie leaned into the chair, taken aback. She'd certainly not expected this- Shane Gray telling her he wasn't this self-centered jackass she'd thought he was all these years. If anything, she would believe he was lying; but no-one managed to look that sincere.

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked then, in a softer voice.

"Because my contract is expiring in three weeks," he explained with a faint flush on his cheeks. Maybe from the cold. "And this project, The Caller, is the first thing I've managed to score on my own."

She couldn't help the smile tugging on her lips. "That's..."

"Creepy? Weird?"

"Kind of sweet, actually. So now you wanna be an actor?"

"Actor and a singer, if I manage. I sort of fell in love with acting a couple years ago, and if everyone's opinion of me is what I think it is, I'm pretty good at it."

His phone buzzed. Gray unceremoniously unlocked it and replied to the message; she took the time to analyze him.

Truthfully, the first time they'd met, Mitchie had clung to the image she'd seen at interviews or through friends. She thought he only had two layers- the infuriating self-absorbed singer and the copious amounts of hairspray he used. Now, sitting across him at her childhood hangout, she was able to notice so much more.

Like how he had bags under his eyes, the hollowness of his cheekbones, his sagged posture, the way he looked. It was clear, now, how uncomfortable he felt in the tight jeans and the designer t-shirt he wore; Gray was hungry, overworked and sad.

She'd thought she was good at reading people, but Gray managed to turn her opinion of him into something other than indifference. Mitchie felt like Elizabeth Bennet, whose conception of Mr. Darcy's character, and his in return, was based more in pride than actual facts.

"What about you?" He said, breaking her out of her trance. He seemed lighter. "Why did you choose writing other than music or acting?"

Mitchie's voice got caught up on her throat. Gray furrowed his eyebrows.

"Is it too personal?" He said understandingly. "You don't have to answer, if you don't want to. I'm interrupting your day enough as it is."

"No," Mitchie smiled a bit. "I'm fine. It's personal, yeah. I don't talk about things, much."

His eyes, instead of the foggy tiredness she'd seen earlier, brightened. "Do you want to talk about something else, instead?"

Mitchie had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from grinning. "Sure."


	6. Six

Mitchie woke up screaming. She was soaked in cold sweat, her whole body shuddering against the cold winter air. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and her pajama pants bunched up to her knees.

She reached out for her bedside table; her hands shook. It took her three tries to hold it in her hand. Her vision was blurry, but she managed to make out 3:04 AM. No missed calls, no text messages to explain the sudden awakening.

Well, of course, there was the nightmare.

Water fell on the screen. She was crying.

She turned all the house lights on. Her feet were unsteady under her, and Mitchie needed to grasp at edges and columns to stay upright. The floor was creaking in protest.

Every shadow looked like an enemy; every corner hid a thief. In the back of her mind, Mitchie knew none of it was real- she was in her house, safe, with a flawless security system and bulletproof windows.

But terror latched onto her skin and mind, leaving her terrified and senseless. Everything was muted, other than the sounds she made. New York City, for the first time, couldn't fill in the silence her fear created. NY didn't make the obnoxious loud noise it usually made, to thaw her frozen form.

Suddenly, all of it came crashing down. Blowing horns, garbage trucks, angry neighbors. Mitchie threw herself to the ground, closing her eyes forcefully. Between the sofa and the kitchen door, she was concealed from view.

That's what she turned into an anchor. She'd managed to sink again in the overwhelming fog of her incapability to separate memories from reality, past from present.

She heard people who weren't there; Mrs. Rodney from down the street at her old house, the one with no heating; her friend from school, who'd disappeared; the drug dealer down the street, who eyed her inappropriately and tried to make her get into the game. All of them, screaming, shouting inside her head.

But she was concealed; no bullets could hit her there. Nothing could. Mitchie was safe.

* * *

"You have bags under your eyes." Ella accused.

Mitchie shook her head clear. "Sorry, what?"

"Have you been sleeping, Mitchie?" The woman asked; one threatening eyebrow rose. "Did I not tell you to?"

"I wasn't listening." She replied absentmindedly. "Besides, I managed to write a bit this morning."

Yeah. No.

"Honey," Ella said exasperatedly. "I love you, I really do. But sometimes you're too much."

Ella Pador was Mitchie's stylist. She dictated what she could wear, what she couldn't. In some ways, she was the person who held the most responsibility in the team; mainly because, if left to her own devices, Mitchie wore t-shirts and cargo pants to award shows.

She was small, but what she lacked in height she made up with creativity. Ella was a genius in her field, the only person capable to make shopping a bit less torturing to Mitchie than the average. Her eyes were big and brown, the perfect way to manipulate people into doing what she wanted.

It worked very well with Mitchie, which was the reason to why the writer didn't take her comment seriously.

"I'm fine, Ella. I just need you to clear everything out so I know what I can or cannot do."  
"You almost sound interested."

"I'm not a big fan of Tess on a rage. I adore leaving her pissed off, but when it comes to how I look, she's worse than Joan Rivers."

Ella searched her eyes for signs of lying- Mitchie was an amazing liar, so she came up blank.

"Okay, fine. I'll pass the list on to Tess, but I'm still the first person you'll call when you get ready for anything."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, and by the way," Ella crossed her arms. "What about Shane Gray and you?"

"Nothing." Mitchie scratched her chin. "He's nice. We hang out."

"No romantic intentions whatsoever?"

"Not on my part."

"But you like him?"

"Well, yes. He's kind of a child most of the time, but we talked about Star Wars and Firefly. He's not big on the Harry Potter movies, he likes the books better, but he's willing to admit Prisoner of Azkaban is the best one. He's a certified babysitter; he prefers Xbox to Wii and hates Blackberries because his fingers are too big to type correctly."

Ella hummed knowingly.

"What?" Mitchie sighed.

"Did you tell him anything important?"

She hesitated. Shane had been refreshingly okay with her unwillingness to talk about the past and her choices. He wasn't aggressive like interviewers or coworkers. He respected her privacy and understood her need for space.

But he'd shared so much with her. Mitchie had to tell him something in return, something worthwhile.

"No. Not yet." Mitchie looked down to her shoes. "I think I will, eventually. Is that enough?"

Ella smiled warmly, her eyes swirling like pools of dark chocolate. "Yeah, it is."


	7. Seven

**Sorry for the delay, I got writer's block. Plus, I don't think I'll manage to post anything this week or the week after that: my aunt, my uncle and my 2 year old nephew are visiting from Germany and I have to play babysitter and translator. And I also have the final trimester tests this weekend, and unless a miracle happens and I gain 10 IQ points, I won't be able to do all of this in 4 more days. Thanks, and sorry again.**

* * *

The launch party was loud and boisterous. People with brand-new tuxes and dresses skittered around the dance floor, flirting, mocking, talking and making deals. Waiters served alcohol at an alarming rate, the bar was full, and the music was obscenely high.

Mitchie was to the side, forced into a conversation with the executive producer of some liberal journal and an aspiring actress. Both of them had only one objective, clear as day: make Mitchie talk. About herself, about the book, about her life.

She felt suffocated. As an introvert, she preferred staying home or with a small group of close friends; but here they were well past midnight and there were at least 120 people in just one ballroom, all of which wanting to talk to her.

"... the journal would be enchanted if you gave it a chance..."

"... I think I've been picking the wrong scripts..."

Someone put a hand to the side of her hip. Mitchie tensed, her face betraying nothing. The faces of her unwanted interlocutors morphed into delight.

"Shane Gray!" The producer said jovially.

And then Shane showed his press side, giving the man a cool nod. The actress giggled, and Shane turned to her with a smirk.

His hand was soft and warm against her side. Shane was outwardly being confident, but his hand was tentative, as if he didn't want to scare her off.

Wordlessly, Mitchie turned around and walked to the balcony. Shane followed closely. He sped up just to open the door for her, after making sure no one saw it.

The party was being held at the top floor of a Manhattan building. The city lights were bright and alive at the crisp weather; Mitchie tightened the jacket over her shoulders.

"Hi." Shane said after a brief pause.

Mitchie had no idea to why he was so shy around her, but she had to admit it was cute. "Hey, Shane."

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable in there," he gestured with his head. "But you seemed overwhelmed and stressed-out. Thought you might want some fresh air."

"Thanks." She said. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Well, I _am_ doing the movie version of your books," he replied, looking out into the city. "And I am kind of a fan, so I really wanted to."

"Your agent okay with that?"

"Who cares. He's not my boss anymore."

The corner of her lip turned up. "Alright."

There was a lull in the conversation; she longed to break it, but she had no idea what to say.

"Hey, um, I wanted to ask you something." Shane crossed his arms self-consciously.

"What?"

At this point, Mitchie was already used to the awkwardness in their friendship. Shane was terrible at making honest conversations- she'd seen interviews of his fake persona and he was a smooth liar; but in reality he felt a need to ramble, state things he didn't need to. Sometimes he orbited around a topic for a long time before he expressed his opinion.

It made her wonder exactly _how_ his agent, his producer and all the people who turned him into The Shane Gray made him feel like. Probably, deep down, he really thought he _was_ that arrogant jerk; for some reason, this possibility made her sad.

"I'm doing a Lord of the Rings marathon tomorrow," he said slowly. "And I wanted you to watch them with me. It's not like a date, or anything, but I could use- I could use some company."

She was pleasantly surprised. "Sounds great. But don't you have anyone else to watch them with?"

"You're my only friend."

Mitchie lost her breath for a half second. "Yeah, I'll go."

"Awesome."

"But only if there's food."

"Lots of food."

"'Kay. Good."

* * *

Shane lived in a condo in Tribeca. Mitchie took the subway and walked the rest of the way, thankfully incognito. A doorman opened the door for her; Shane must've told him she was coming. She smiled at the guy and got in.

He opened the door; his smile lit up his eyes. "Hey. Thanks for coming."

"My pleasure." She replied. She shrugged out of her coat and he took it from her, hanging it in a coat room to the left. "Just don't laugh at me when I repeat everything every character says."

"I do the same thing..."


	8. Eight

**Hey guys! I was going to post this chapter last Friday, but my internet was having problems and I couldn't access anything online (in a brighter angle, it gave me reason and motivation to study, which is always a plus). Now it's finally back, so here's the eighth chapter!**

* * *

His apartment was big. The floor was clear wood; the walls painted beige and brown. He had tons of DVDs, bookshelves, movie posters, CDs, videogames in his living room; she spotted a comfortable leather chair, perfect for spending a lot of time in Xbox.

They ate bowls of candy, Doritos, gallons of soda. Shane never left her glass empty for more than four seconds and he was always cracking jokes. Mitchie contributed by making sarcastic comments over Frodo and Sam's relationship or Legolas's hair.

It's two in the morning when she realizes she's drifted into his side and her head is lolling casually in his shoulder. By that time, they'd switched Coca-Cola for beers and their feet are propped up in his coffee table. It might be her alcohol-induced haze, but she doesn't mind.

Shane is electrifying. He was loud and innocent; he had this wonder in his eyes that not even his current career situation could erase. He was interested in everything; he got truly excited for her new book and the movie. He went from shy to loud in a matter of seconds, than he suddenly retreated again. He was one of those unpredictable people she rarely got to meet, full of contradictions.

She didn't know she needed a friend like him, but now she was sure. Caitlyn was loud too, but she was frequently busy and just as unattached as Mitchie. Ella was colorful and bright, but she hated watching TV. Nate was her brother, and Jason was this big goofball who spent the day going through scripts.

Mitchie liked Shane's determination when it came to his work: he wanted to veer his career into the path he'd always wanted it to go, and had no problems with her curiosity about it. He already had another label asking him to be signed in; they accepted his original ideas and ambitions and wanted to go through with all of it.

She was happy for him, but in that moment she was also happy for herself for giving him a chance.

* * *

"Remember, all questions are valid," Tess said, yanking the lapels of Mitchie's jacket so that they would stay down. "Answer all personal questions vaguely, especially those about your boyfriend."

"_He's not my boyfriend!_" Mitchie hissed. The producers were ready to usher her into the talk show stage.

"Yeah, right," Tess scoffed. "Shane Gray doesn't go out with girls unless he's interested in getting in their pants."

Mitchie narrowed her eyes. "That sounds like the voice of experience."

Tess didn't answer; she pushed Mitchie forwards with the assistants with a neutral expression. Nate showed up just a few seconds before she was thrown under the bright lights.

* * *

"Torres." She answered her phone quickly.

"Hey, Mitchie, it's Jason."

"Jase, why are you callin' me at two in the morning?"

"Why do you sound so awake at two in the morning?"

"I'm writing." Mitchie put him on speakerphone. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm reviewing the script for The Caller. There are some twists I'd like you to check out in the storyline."

Mitchie cursed under her breath. "I told them they should stay with the book storyline. What did they change?"

"Some things, like how Ben meets Jesse or how Metropolis looks like."

"Okay, I'll stop by first thing in the morning."

"Actually, since you're awake, could you come right now?"

"'Kay." Mitchie saved her progress and closed the lid. "I'm gonna have to bring my laptop with me, though. I have to send three chapters to CRP and outline the next five."

"Alright. I'll see you in a few." They hung up.

Jason and Mitchie had met through Nate. Mitchie didn't know exactly what he did; he was a writer for TV shows, he directed and he acted. If a project was interesting enough, he did all of the three at the same time. They understood each other's crazy work hours and the demanding nature of the job, which is why Jason thought appropriate to call her so early.

He lived in Manhattan, not too far from where she was. After he'd gotten married, five years before, he'd moved to a large apartment. Now that he was just thirty and single, it served well for throwing parties and inviting family. Mitchie, Caitlyn and Nate stayed over a lot during the initial stages of the movie deals, so they had a bunch of things they'd forgotten there.

Jason was kind of a wildcard, though. She could never tell what he'd do next, and instead of keeping her on her toes like Shane did, it made her slightly uneasy. There was no question on her mind that he'd ask about Shane.

Still, she gave him a tired smile when he opened the door.

"C'mon in," Jason said, his uneven raven hair falling on his face. "I made coffee."

He laughed at her relieved sigh.

"So, what's the enormous problem you found with the script?"

She sat on the L-shaped couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table. Jason raised the manuscript in his hand and sat in a leather chair.

"Just that I knew how pissed you got when people altered movie adaptions for books you loved; didn't want to be near when you saw this during filming. Now there's still time to change some things, tweak a lil' bit."

"Gimme your coffee and I'll look into it."

"I highlighted the parts. They're also dog-eared."

"Thanks."

It wasn't as bad as she'd worried. Of course, she'd rain down a world of hurt over Luke and the rest of the writing staff, but it wasn't _Percy Jackson_ all over again. The sun wasn't even up when she finished jotting down possible changes to the story in Post-its and glued them to the papers.

"Now I'm not going home." She told Jason after she was done. "You've made me too comfortable."

Jason chuckled and put away the script. Then he stopped Mitchie from turning on her computer. "Wait."

"You wanna ask about Gray, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Do it before I change my mind."

"Why?"

"He's not who you think he is." Mitchie explained. "I don't know if you'll understand what I'm tryin' to say. He's really, really nice. He makes me laugh. We're friends."

"You know I have to ask, but are you..."

"No. It's not going to happen."

"It's not going to happen because you don't want it to," He said, looking her in the eyes. "Or because you do?"

He'd always been able to ask the right questions. Mitchie looked outside, at the tiny flickers of other people's windows. "'cause..."

She didn't have to finish the phrase; he knew.


	9. Nine

**This is pretty much a filler. I apologize in advance.**

**Edit: hey guys. I don't know if you'll see this edit, but I wanted to say that I've decided to put this on hold. I cornered myself into turning this into a fic, and now I don't know what to do with it. It'll take a long time for me to finish it, but I _will_, just not right now. In the frame of mind I'm in, everything I'd write wouldn't do justice to the characters or my own pride. I'm very sorry. ****I'm going to update, yes, but it's going to take a while.**

* * *

After another sleepless night, Mitchie was ready to pass out from exhaustion at any given minute. Her mind was sluggish and her arms felt like dead weights to her side.

They were having a first group gathering of all the movie crew, to organize and set some things straight. Mitchie wouldn't hang around the set too much, having a book to promote and other to write, but they wanted her in to lend some authority to Luke and his fellow editors.

Jason was directing this one; she trusted him completely and knew he was capable of the job. Luke and the others... well, she wasn't so sure.

She enlisted Caitlyn's help for the concept art, mainly because she needed an ally. Caitlyn was always happy to oblige and tag along; Mitchie suspected only because she'd been asking to meet the illustrious Shane Gray for two weeks.

They managed to come out of the subway unscathed. Being a NY native, Mitchie had perfected the confident and rushed type of walk you needed when crossing the busy streets. The Big Apple was an arrogant city, and only the determined could wade through the grey mass of people.

It snowed again; tiny flecks of white clung to her coat and hair. Mitchie's cheeks were tinted rosy pink by the wind and the cold. The CRP sign glowed red and painted a lovely play of colors in Caitlyn's light hair. Inside, the air was just a bit warmer, allowing Mitchie to take a deep breath to prepare herself to the crowd surely awaiting her.

Tess, as usual, ushered them into a conference room; but the disdain so clearly stained to her features that it couldn't be a result of Mitchie's arrival, nor Caitlyn's. This just served to further attest to Mitchie's theory of her having a past with Shane.

The man himself looked at her from where he was seated. His expression was stony and showed nothing but seriousness; but a corner of his lip lifted upwards at her entrance. She and Caitlyn passed his chair to sit down next to Jason, and she replied by touching his arm briefly as she passed.

After Jason introduced everyone, he proceeded to make a few statements; like how Mitchie had the last word on every scene, how he wouldn't tolerate any unprofessional behavior in his set and things like that.

Then they were talking about lights and the casting choices and other mindless details Mitchie didn't really care about; soon she was tapping her feet incessantly, earning to be out the chair and doing _something_. It's not like she wasn't aware of the importance of the meeting; it was her ADHD brain that wouldn't shut off and the ever-present characters who nudged her into unraveling the papyri of shiny new storylines.

The windows were closed, so no air was going into the room, making it harder for her not to feel caged. Sometimes New York made her feel free and limitless, but now it felt oppressive.

Caitlyn didn't take notice of it; she was talking to Hank Copely, the soundtrack composer. They were exchanging ideas with some of the writers heatedly, ideas practically bursting out of the air like fireworks. Jason was also busy with the producers and Luke. Across the room, Dana was immersed in a conversation with her co-stars.

Only Shane wasn't paying anyone attention. His fingers flew over his phone's screen. She took out her own and sent him a text.

_"I expected you to be in full-fledged real-Shane-mode today."_

They didn't look at each other, but he responded quickly. _"I'm doing the same thing as u, rn."_

_ "Yes, that's the point. I'm a natural bitch; what's your excuse?"_

_ "Y do u type correctly on ur phone?"_

_ "I even tweet correctly. I'm weird, if you hadn't noticed."_

_ "What time does this end?"_

_ "Whenever Jason decides. He's the boss."_

_ "No he's not."_

_ "He's your boss, not mine."_

_ "Who's urs?"_

_ "I'm my boss."_

She could hear his slight chuckle from the other side of the table.

_"No comment."_

_ "Dana's looking at you every five seconds. Talk to her."_

_ "And say wut?"_

_ "I don't know. I don't understand people."_

_ "Then how did u kno?"_

_ "Mad skillz."_

_ "C, I knew u had it in u."_

_ "She probably wants to know the guy she's going to kiss on screen."_

_ "Question is which Shane, the SOB or the real 1."_

_ "Whichever you prefer. Now, I'm going to fake a meeting so I can get out of this shindig. Good luck. And talk to Caitlyn."_

He texted her back just as she left the room.

_"I hate u."_


	10. Ten

**... :D**

**I am alive!**

* * *

She is completely mental. It's three in the morning and she's standing in front of his door; her fist's been raised for the past ten minutes, waiting for an excuse to knock.

In the back of her mind, Mitchie knew she was there because of the panic attack she'd had that night; the rest of her frantically searched for a reason to be there, coming up empty. Of course, he'd know what it was the second he opened the door; her eyes bloodshot, her muscles locked, her trembling hands and tear tracks on her cheeks.

It wasn't the first time she'd done this- show up to his door uninvited. They were friends now, he came over to her house often enough. There was a time when he'd shown up drunk out of his mind and proceeded to lay down on every available surface in her loft while muttering the Suite Life on Deck theme song. She took pictures of it, obviously.

But even though she knew she could talk to him about these things, like he so openly discussed his fears and actions with her, Mitchie still held back, trying to stay in her gray zone. Nothing good came out of telling anyone about what happened to her. The knowledge would only weight heavily on him and the last thing Mitchie wanted was to give him something else to worry about.

She left then, consumed by what she called good judgement, but was really a disguise for her fright.

* * *

Shane called around two in the afternoon, asking to meet up at a coffee shop not far from her house. She agreed readily, as she was already searching for a reason to drop trying to write.

The coffee shop was tiny, warm and bustling with people, none of which recognized her. There was mistletoe hanging over the windows and the doors, snowmen in the windowsill and little golden bells lined up on the counter. Behind it stood a plump woman, her eyes the color of carrot cake and her cheeks a bright pink. She took orders efficiently and quickly, her smile never fading and her tone always cheery when she wished someone a happy holiday, even though it wasn't that time of the year yet.

But, as her mother used to say, it's never too early for Christmas.

He was sitting at the back, his eyes glued to his phone. He just looked up when he heard her sit down.

"Hey."

"Hey. What's up?"

"I kinda need your opinion on something."

Mitchie narrowed her eyes. "It's not anything related to family or romance, is it? Because I'm terrible with those."

"No- well, yes."

"Then you called the wrong girl, Gray."

"I wanna talk to my mother." He said. She fell silent. "B-because it's Christmas. And she likes Christmas. And my father too."

"Um, Shane-"

"I know you're uncomfortable with these kinds of things, but I can't really talk to anyone else."

"So what do you want from me?"

"I don't know. Reassurance? A speech? A smack upside the head because I can't expect to be welcomed back into their lives after everything I've done the past years?"

"They're family. Of course they'll welcome you back."

"Would your parents do it?"

Mitchie focused on the napkins next to his left hand, searching for patterns to distract her. "No parents. Just mother. And yes, I think she would have."

He watched her, probably trying to gauge if he'd manage to weasel out more information from her. When she didn't meet his eyes, Shane reached out and carefully touched her hand with his own.

"Just a mom?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah."

Obviously, he wanted to ask. He wanted to know why. Mitchie wasn't used to people caring about her now, or about her past or her future, and she didn't know how to respond to it. Concern was something she'd forgotten about after she turned eighteen, except at the times where Caitlyn got shitfaced and landed on jail or asked her to pick her up at a seedy bar. When none of this things were a factor, she was out of depth. Especially when the concern was aimed at her.

But Ella said she should share something with him; it wasn't the cause for her insomnia, but it was a big thing nonetheless. Shane told her about the record label and the end of his contract within days of their acquaintance and hadn't pressed for anything in return; but maybe he didn't have to. Maybe that was just a part of normal friendships.

"My mother raised me and Nate by herself." She said, watching the street. "We lived on a poorer part of New York- ruled by gangs and dealers. We studied far from it, mostly because it was dangerous and because my mom didn't want us to get involved with the more violent kids. She had two jobs, rarely stayed at home. When she did, she was so tired that all she could do was say hi and crash onto the couch. As I got older, I got a few jobs here and there to cover some expenses and let my mom loosen her working hours. She only asked for vacation during Christmas."

"What about your father?"

"Absent."

Shane squeezed her hand. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Telling me."

"We're friends." She gave him a small grin.

"Yes."

"Now, you should talk to your parents. Everyone should spend Christmas with someone. They probably miss you, Shane."

"I guess." He shrugged. "I'm not the same person, though."

"No one is."

"What if I have changed too much? What if I'm more like the jackass I portrayed than I think I am?"

"You're nothing like a jackass."

"You can't know that. You didn't meet me when I was full-on popstar Shane. People cowered."

"Changing doesn't mean your parents will love you any less. And if you were a jackass, I'd let you know."

"Let me know," he scoffed theatrically. "You'd punch me."

"Damn straight," she picked up her menu. "Now, we've been sitting here for almost half-an-hour and still haven't had coffee."

"Caffeine junkie."

"You _smell_ like coffee, Shane. Don't point fingers at me."

"You know how I smell? That's a little creepy, Mitchie, even for you."

"I'm a novelist- it's my job to notice things!"

"You're making excuses."

"It's not an excuse. It's an explanation."

"Lies." He said with a straight face, grabbing her menu and opening it. "I'm not falling for the act, Torres. You have a crush on me. I can sense it."

"No, I don't. I like bad boys. You're not one."

"Oh, no," Shane gasped, making her have to hide a smile. "What gave me away?"

"Your little lip trembling thing when you mentioned your mother."

"Everyone has a weak spot, Torres. Family is my kriptonite."

"Oh, _please_, you're so not Superman."

"Batman."

"You're Aquaman."

The other costumers started to stare at the two young adults. With Shane's status as the hottest celebrity around and the movie adaptation for her book, it was a matter of minutes before someone recognized them. But Mitchie realized she didn't mind.

"That's it- you're out of my will. No money for you."

"I don't need your money. I'm self-sufficient."

"You're such a hard woman to be friends with. Can't even pay for anything. Gosh. Girls usually ask for the opposite."

"You need new friends. Speaking of which," her eyes lit up as she remembered something. "Caitlyn's inviting you to the launch of her friend's galleria. She said she won't be offended if you don't come, but that it's fun there."

Shane furrowed his brows. "You're going?"

"Yes. So is Jason, Nate and Ella. Basically, all my friends want to meet you."

"That's kinda intimidating. And I might distract the guests."

"Go incognito. Get a fake mustache."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"I suppose I could come. Mustache-less. When is it?"

"This weekend. I know you're still taping some stuff here in NY and that in two weeks you're off to God-knows-where, but everyone's going too and it'd be nice to be friends with your co-workers."

They gave their orders to the teenage waitress, whose face quickly uplifted when she spotted them. Obviously, she must have been one of Shane's fans, because of the half-awed and half-terrified look she had. Mitchie tried to turn her voice into something calmer, but she also knew who she was and it only served to starstruck her further. When she left, Shane was suppressing a grin.

"I suppose." He said in answer to her previous argument. "But only if you give me a list of ground rules so that I won't be completely lost."

"Alright." Mitchie took out her phone. "Let me tell Caitlyn."

"I think we'll soon be swarmed by paparazzi." Shane said thoughtfully. "But I really want some cake."

She barely glanced at him. "I just want coffee. And I'm getting used to the paparazzi. They're not so bad with me as they are with you, though."

"Glad to hear it. They're evil."

Mitchie locked her phone and raised an eyebrow at him. "You punched one in the face in October."

"Justified."

"To the court, maybe, but I'm not about to go near you with a camera."

"I wouldn't punch you!"

"I know. It's a precaution."

"You're just as bad as them."

"I'm worse."

"I'm not sharing my cake with you."

"Betrayal." She waved her fork at him. "I'm killing your character off. That is, if I actually manage to do some writing."

"Writer's block?" He asked.

"Yes. Well, actually, not really- I have an idea, but I'm having trouble fleshing it out the way I want to."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out. Meanwhile, we're eating this real quick and getting the hell out because I doubt you want your picture in the papers."


	11. Eleven

"Is it supposed to look like that?"

Shane was crossing his arms as he talked. Mitchie could smell his cologne from where she stood, both of them staring up at a painting at the galleria. The place was bustling, viewers bumping shoulders with them every once in a while. Mostly they stayed quiet as they looked, but this painting was... different.

"Well, they hung it that way." Mitchie said, unsure. They both cocked their heads at the same time. "Now it's less disturbing."

"Hiya!" Someone called out behind them. Caitlyn wore a graceful smile on her face, her hair falling in perfect ringlets around her cheekbones. "You made it!"

"Caitlyn," Shane greeted. "Hey. You look great."

"Thank you."

"Where is your friend?" Mitchie asked, craning her head in search of the mass of blue/pink hair Caitlyn's friends always seemed to have.

"Oh, I don't know," she waved her off. "Probably evaluating her chances of getting laid tonight."

"That's a bit more information than I was hoping for."

"Nate, Jason and Ella have already arrived. I think they're by the back wall." Caitlyn informed them.

"Thanks. We'll catch you later."

Shane tried to disguise himself between the crowd as they made their way through, which was proving to be effective, even though Mitchie had to refrain herself from grinning.

"You're laughing at me." He complained. "I decide to give normal life a chance and you think this is funny."

"This is not normal life," Mitchie said, letting her smile appear. "You're walking with a bestselling author on the way to meet your boss, my stylist and my agent."

"Thanks. As if I wasn't dreading this enough."

"You're worse a misanthrope than I am." She laughed. "They're nice. Caitlyn's the worse of all my friends, and you get along just fine."

"Because she's crazy. I can deal with crazy, but I can't talk to someone who's normal. You know how hard it is to find a stable person in my business?"

"Clearly, you haven't been to CRP on a week day," she finally spotted them. "It's a bunch of writers running on deadlines, editors torn between burning manuscripts or building them a shrine and frustrated agents yelling at their interns to blow off steam. It's heaven."

He sent her a bemused look just as the trio turned to them. Ella greeted Mitchie with a bear hug, covering her vision with her wavy dark hair.

"Nice to see you too," Mitchie choked out. The woman let go of her, grinning. "Do you make a habit of suffocating your clients upon view?"

She proceeded to hug Shane in a gentler fashion. "Shane. Didn't think you had time for this."

Her tone was warm despite the words. "I did," he returned the hug awkwardly before she stepped back. "And Mitchie didn't give me much of a choice."

Jason chuckled besides Nate, whose face was amiable, if not a bit distracted. "Have you seen Hurricane Caitlyn?"

"Yeah, we bumped into Ace earlier," Mitchie's voice turned detached as she got distracted by some blinking lights at the back of the spacious white room. "She's going around the room by now."

"Maybe when she gets back she'll give us some insight into what these paintings actually mean." Nate said. He glanced at Mitchie and snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Wake up."

Ella turned her focus to Mitchie, frowning slightly. "I wish you'd wear dresses more often. You look good."

She looked down at her attire; a simple navy dress that went until few centimeters below her knees and a pair of vertiginous, black heels. "Uh, thanks, I guess."

"I thought you were her stylist," Jason said. "Don't you decide what she wears?"

"To award shows, interviews, red carpets, but not to informal events. She doesn't need any help with those."

"Aren't those heels uncomfortable?"

"Nope. I could spend the whole night in them."

She felt someone's eyes on her; Mitchie turned to find Shane quickly snapping his head forward. If it wasn't for the red tint creeping up his neck, she wouldn't have guessed what he was looking at beforehand. A hot surge of something rushed up her chest and settled on her cheeks. Nate, as she'd expected, was oblivious to Shane checking out his sister, but Jason fixed her with a suggestive wink and Ella laughed, delighted. Mitchie briefly wondered if she'd be able to dig a hole in the expensive wooden floor with her nails and heels, but Caitlyn showed up before she could act on it.

* * *

She brought a guy with her- tall, olive-skinned, bright-eyed and with a deep, bass voice. Mitchie didn't catch his name, but she knew Caitlyn would call her the next morning and tell her all about him.

They fawned over each other, as inebriated attractive people tended to do after midnight, obliviously providing an endless source of amusement to Nate. Jason got a call from a screenwriter and excused himself; but the stilted conversation Mitchie expected to follow was interrupted by Shane talking to someone else, plus the entirely too interested look to Ella's face as she evaluated a painting to her right.

Mitchie latched onto the opportunity of distancing herself from Shane - mainly because she'd noticed the way his muscles ripped under his shirt and damn, when did she start being attracted to him? - and entertained her friend with dramatic readings of all the paintings around them. She also took the relative privacy of their position to ask Ella something that was gnawing at her.

"Do you know if Tess and Shane had a fling?" Mitchie said, as they got to a clearer area of the galleria.

"What?" Ella scrunched her pointy nose cutely. "Tess?"

"Yeah. It looks like she hates him more than she loathes me, which is saying a lot."

"Tess hates everything."

"Do you know or do you not?"

"Of course I know," she replied smugly. "I know everything in New York. And they did have a thing last year."

"How'd that go?"

"Shane was still a jerk back then and Tess wasn't any better. They went out for a month, I think, and cracks started to show. Schedules conflicting, Shane's latest tantrum, her career. Eventually, it blew up- they argued very loudly at a restaurant downtown and it was the last of that."

"Seems to me there's more to it," Mitchie pondered. "Not that it's my business anyway."

"If you find out anything, let me know." Ella's mouth turned into a playful smile. "Why do you ask, though?"

"Because I love having something on Tess," Mitchie said without missing a beat. "And Shane too. But I'll probably just tease him about it."

Ella's face soured as she focused on something over Mitchie's shoulder. "Mitchie," she said. "Who's that?"

"Huh?" She turned around.

Shane was talking to the same woman as before; but now, her hands traced over his shoulder and biceps and her body solidly invading his personal space. Instead of backing out, Shane actually stepped closer as they watched, his body language making his intent clear.

"Oh." Was all she managed to say.

"What the-" Ella stopped mid-sentence and looked at her warily. "You okay with this?"

"Yeah," her voice sounded hollow even in her own ears. Her gut churned. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Michelle. I call bullshit."

"I am! He's a single guy, he can do whatever he wants."

"You like him."

"No. Not like that."

"Sure." Ella pursed her lips.

Mitchie clenched and unclenched her fists at her side, nervously trying to regain her composure. "I should go," she heard herself saying. "Home. Yeah."

She didn't even give Ella time to stop her and swiftly made her way to the front doors. With an apologetic, vague text to Caitlyn's phone, she hailed a cab and got the hell out of there.


	12. Twelve

It was almost nightfall the next day, when she heard her doorbell ring. Multiple times. Mitchie groaned from her place in front of the TV, when Caitlyn's voice came from the other side.

"Open the goddamn door before I kick it down!"

She reluctantly got up and let Caitlyn and Ella in. They carried a series of shopping bags, all of which they dropped on her counter with dramatical sighs. Mitchie narrowed her eyes at them.

"Why are you bringing me food?"

"It's not food," Caitlyn sounded almost offended, helping Ella put the things in Mitchie's freezer. "It's ice cream."

"Guys, are you throwing me a pity party?"

"Did you just say that on a British accent?" Ella asked, deviating from the original subject. As usual with Mitchie, it worked for a brief time.

"I was watchin' Elementary," Mitchie crossed her arms and closed the final steps into her sparse kitchen. "But that's not the point. I don't need ice cream."

"Girl, everyone needs ice cream."

"Though being heartbroken is a great reason to have some." Ella opened a can of mint-flavored ice cream and searched the counters for a spoon.

"I'm not heartbroken." Mitchie said, stubborn.

"Then we'll call this a girls' night and a free excuse to throw my diet out the window."

"I'm with Ella."

There was no way to counter Caitlyn and Ella's logic normally, especially when Mitchie was knee-deep into her denial. To maintain her facade, she sighed and let up, leaving Ella to pick a movie and Caitlyn to gush about her handsome man from the party.

* * *

She didn't see Shane until the final cast meeting before shooting, which was on Friday. Mitchie spent the entirety of her week caught somewhere between discussing her non-infatuation with the singer with Caitlyn and agonizing about it during her alone time. She couldn't admit to anyone else but herself that, even though they knew each other for a brief time, Mitchie was past the point of return in this.

Mitchie really, really liked Shane Gray, and it was not a happy conclusion.

He'd proven to be different from what she expected, sure, but there was some roots to the rumors to begin with. Shane was often hitting on beautiful women, even when she was around, and he'd never shown any kind of romantic interest in her whatsoever- well, excluding his behavior at the galleria opening. In fact, he seemed to be more attracted to Cait and Ella than he was to her.

Accepting the possibility of her feelings being unrequited led to the only viable course of action: getting rid of them. Which seemed easy on paper, but much harder in real life.

She'd written characters in a position like hers; liking someone they couldn't have. They always came out on top, with some emotional scars, but better nonetheless. But outside her computer was a cruel world who ceased every opportunity to remind her of him.

By the time of the meeting, Mitchie had already seen two dozens of commercials with his face on them and three magazines with his smiling face on its cover. No matter where she went, they played one of his songs. Subway stations had his name painted on their walls. Fangirls asked about him during her writing breaks at coffee shops.

So it was with a good deal of wariness and sour irritation she showed up with at Jason's apartment. The owner noticed it right away.

"The girls told me what happened," he said, fussing over her like she'd shatter at any minute. "He's here, but-"

"It's fine, Jason." Mitchie replied while taking off her coat and putting it on the hangar. "Really. Who has already come?"

"The producers, Nate, Cait and Shane. Tess too, but she's been on the phone with Brown for twenty minutes."

"Probably won't join the conversation again in less than half-an-hour. Brown keeps his calling to a minimum, but when he's speakin' with Tess it's like, two hours of jibber-jabber."

Jason gave her no time to compose herself and showed her into his living room with practiced casualness. Caitlyn looked up from the dining table with a blank expression, while Shane grinned generously. Mitchie instantly felt her stomach being stomped by a horde of dancing elephants.

Whatever she'd wrote her characters to experience in her books seemed inaccurate when compared to the real feeling when you saw someone you had a crush on. Not only her gut danced to a vicious rhythm, but her palms were awfully sweaty and her skin felt was like it was on fire.

Mitchie should have stayed home. Should have pretended to be sick.

Even though she wanted nothing more than to run back into the street and go home, Mitchie steeled herself mentally, wiped her hands surreptitiously on the back of her jeans and let out a small smile in return to his.

"Hey." She greeted.

Nate, being the neurotic angel he was, broke the awkward exchanging of 'hello's and got right into business, shoving the final script into her hands and asking her to revise it. This allowed Mitchie to slip into author-mode and her role as the independent boss of the entire operation.

She sat by the large windows, in a sofa, away from the others so that she couldn't be distracted. More often than her friends, who were in majority artistic people and consequently weird, quirky individuals, Mitchie was deviated from the tasks at hand by excessive external stimuli; mainly because of her ADHD. Because of this, people who weren't well acquainted with her need for seclusion got upset or impatient with her lack of progress in high-stimulus environments once, her English teacher asked her to write a simple paragraph during lunch, and she couldn't get anything done because of her rowdy classmates. Even the slightest movement could take away her focus.

When she'd first told Jason about this, he asked her if she took medication regularly. Mitchie had to ponder over this for a while, trying to explain it to him. For her, taking her medication was putting order into her thoughts and days, but it also hindered her creativeness and made writing more difficult. It was a very personal reaction, something she wasn't comfortable telling others about, but that took a toll on her day-to-day life. Eventually, Mitchie decided she'd rather stay off the meds, in normal days.

Today wasn't a usual day, but she'd loath to take them too. They put her life in order, but they also made her jittery and very aware of her surroundings. Taking them today, when she couldn't deal with her new-found feelings for Shane, would be result in a disaster.

Because of the demand for space and attention, Mitchie was unperturbed by her friends until the rest of the team started coming in. The producers got out of the kitchen and started discussing plot points and events with the newcomers; after the first half-hour, Mitchie couldn't concentrate anymore, and joined the group.

She successfully dodged Shane for an hour, stuck between avid screenwriters and Jason, until she went to the bathroom and got out to nearly crash face-to-face with the star himself.

"Hey," he said, furrowing his eyebrows. "Are you avoiding me?"

"What?" Mitchie fake-scoffed, her mind trying to come up with an excuse to leave. "No."

"Because we haven't talked for more than ten minutes this week," Shane kept on, his eyes trained on hers. "And I know my schedule has been tight these days, but I called you after last night's concert and you didn't pick up or return the call."

"I fell asleep on my couch. And I didn't check my messages."

He saw there was something more to it, but his eyes cleared and he stepped back, giving her room to breathe. If he hadn't, Mitchie would have keep wondering whether or not his lips were as soft as they looked.

"What do you think of the script, so far?"

She blinked at the sudden change of topics. "I like it. It's faithful to much of what I've written, and it follows the main story arc. There are a few changes here and there that I'm fond of. So far, I haven't seen anything worrying."

"And how has your writing been?"

She was flying through her book faster than ever. Mitchie was spending nights upon nights laying in her bed, writing frantically, her mind jumping with ideas. This was the last book of the series, the place where she'd tie everything up, and it was all coming to her easily. Her epiphany of sorts, regarding the man in front of her, struck her like a hammer of inspiration.

"Good," she replied. "It's been good. I've managed to get to the last five chapters. It should be at its final stages by the end of the month."

Shane smiled down at her. It wasn't his commercial or the 'hey-you're-my-friend' smile, but the fond, dorky closed-mouth little grin he wore whenever she made a very bad joke or said something especially insightful.

They were alone in Jason's back hallway, the sounds dulled by the soundproof walls. Mitchie felt a blush coming up her cheeks. She ducked her head to hide it, but under the dim light, Mitchie doubted he could've seen it.

"I need to check on something with Caitlyn," she fiddled with the hem of her maroon hoodie, feeling ridiculously under-dressed. "I'll see you at the first day of shooting, I guess."

"Wait," Shane held onto her elbow as she tried to make a break for it. "You left early at the party. Was something wrong?"

"I didn't feel well." Mitchie said carefully. "I get uncomfortable with crowds."

She felt his eyes on her back as she retreated back into the living room. It was clear he didn't believe her.


	13. Thirteen

**Have a wonderful day!**

* * *

"Jason, I'm gonna go on a book tour and I'm also trying to finish the last Jesse novel. I can't consult and oversee every step of the filming process."

"But, I can't possibly know how you want things done!"

"I thought you and Caitlyn had already understood," Mitchie snapped. She was in a foul mood. "The only thing I want is faithfulness to the series."

"How am I supposed to follow it?"

"Ask Shane or Cait; they've read it. Shane told me he's read it extensively. Just don't call me to ask what's the exact color of Aaron's first alien girlfriend - which is cerulean blue, by the way - or something equally trivial."

Jason grumbled something and hung up the phone. Mitchie put hers back into her pocket and massaged her temples. The automatic doors slid shut behind her.

Her day was not going as well as she'd hoped. Nate went off-grid, not answering calls and texts. Tess was yammering on her ear, telling her to power-through the rest of the book, even though Mitchie was ahead of schedule. Shane was too busy to talk, and Caitlyn had immersed herself in a creative coma from where she couldn't pull her out from NYC.

And the task she had ahead of her sucked any cheerfulness left in Mitchie.

The woman behind the desk smiled bright, her teeth literally blinding. She nodded politely at her and informed her destination. Instantly she started, her gaze turned pitying and condescending. Mitchie felt cold, icy anger settle in her stomach and crushed the rose stems she was holding.

With a clenched jaw, Mitchie curtly turned away from the front desk and went down the hallway, in a path she knew by heart. Mentally, she checked a list: 1) Don't hope for anything. 2) Make sure you won't scare her. 3) Bring her flowers.

Room 103's door was slightly ajar. Mitchie peered through, hoping for a glimpse of what she could expect. Instead, she got bland cotton sheets and stark white paint. She stood outside, trying to control her breathing, before opening the door with caution. The place looked just like it did when she'd last visited. The same unassuming TV hanging on the wall, the same polished handrails, the floor still soft and giving.

A small woman, no more than fifty years old, sat on the edge of her bed. Her long, brown hair was in a braid. She wore an amber sweater, pink fluffy socks and jeans. For a second, she looked just like the woman Mitchie remembered her being- of course, it was still her, if her stubborness she displayed the last time was anything to go by. And yet-

She turned around, saw Mitchie and smiled wide.

"Honey! How was school?"

Mitchie's stomach dropped, but she gave a heartfelt smile in return.

"It was okay, mom. I bought you flowers."

* * *

"How's my favorite writer doing?"

Mitchie closed her eyes and let out a breath. "Okay. How are you?"

Hearing Shane's voice untangled a knot inside her, one that had been building up during the day. It was always smooth and warm, and never failed to make her feel better.

"I'm great!" Shane answered, his childlike wonder clear even through the phone. "The shooting is going very well- Jason says we're even going faster than he predicted. Everyone's being nice to me, even if a little wary. It's more than I could hope for, anyway."

She wanted to see him. She wanted to see him so bad.

"That's really good, Shane."

"It's weird, the weather here in L.A.. I miss it there."

"It's snowing a lot. More snow than we've had on years. Sander built a snowman outside Wet Crows yesterday. The kids like 'im- they come out of school and try to build a wall around it."

"How'd that go?"

"It ended in a snowball fight. I have pictures. Blackmail against Sander."

She moved to her bedroom and curled up on her bed.

"- wish you were here though."

"What?"

"It's weird, not having you here. Feels like something's missing. And... I don't know."

"Yeah," her voice caught a little. The day was starting to catch up on her. Sleep knocked on her doorstep. "Yeah, I wish I was there too."

"You're flying here, at some point?"

"Probably. Book tour stops by L.A. a couple times. I might have some free time."

"You'll use it to see me, or to go to a bookstore and fill your suitcase with poems?"

"It's a tie. And how do you know I like poems?"

"I've been to your house, Mitchie."

"Point taken."

"Are you falling asleep on me?" He asked with a teasing lint to his tone. "Getting old."

"It's been a long day." Mitchie protested. She arched her back like a feline and shuffled to get to a better position. "And I'm three years younger than you."

"Oh, God, thank you for reminding me how truly ancient I am."

"Just tryna keep you humble."

She could practically hear him grin. "Go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" Shane said the last phrase with the gentlest of tones. It made her miss him terribly.

"Okay," she answered. "Goodnight, Shane."


	14. Fourteen

**Not really happy with this chapter.**

* * *

New York at night was rarely quiet, even in more peaceful areas of the city. Most of the time, the yells and songs and sirens barely made Mitchie stir in bed, much less get up; but that night, she sprung up in bed, sweating and panicked.

It was just a car horn. Some cursing. And yet, it caused her unreasonable terror.

She felt tired and defeated.

Mitchie got out of bed and spared a look at the clock: 3:12 A.M.. She'd gotten home late, because of the publishing campaign and the collateral social events she was obligated to attend.

This time, it was a large party, thrown by a stock market millionaire, whose money and subsequent fame encouraged extravagant outlets. The result was an enormous amount of A-list and B-list celebrities, live music, and a immense buffet. Mitchie had mingled for about two hours before she got over-stimulated and searched for peace in the hotel staircase.

Eventually, Tess noticed her disappearance, and shooed her back inside like a stray dog- albeit in a more gentle manner than she normally would've, which Mitchie attributed to the amount of cocktails the blonde downed during the night.

When she got to her apartment, Mitchie had collapsed into bed, but got less than an hour of sleep before being awakened by an innocent driver.

Rubbing her left lower ribs as if to stop them from aching - it was a psychological reflux of another night, years ago - and concentrating in talking deep breaths, Mitchie stood up gingerly. Her blood thawed and the adrenaline faded slowly.

Her phone pinged with a text. She unlocked the screen and managed a close-lipped smile.

_"u awake?_" It was Shane.

_"yes, I am, actually."_

He called in response.

"Hey." His voice was rough when she picked up. "Why're you awake?"

"Could ask you the same question."

"I was shooting."

"And I was at a party."

"You're joking."

"You know, I do get out of my house sometimes. I'm not Grinch or anything."

"Sure. Whatever." He said good-naturedly. "Listen, I was re-reading your book-"

"You have excellent taste."

He jumped over her quip, but a trace of amusement seeped through. "-and I was wondering how'd you get this gun battle parts so frightening and... kinda real."

"Why'd ask?" Her throat got uncomfortably tight.

"I want to get this as accurate as possible for when I act it out. So, how did you do it?"

"Lots of research."

No. That was a lie. She didn't need research; Mitchie knew exactly how it felt to be ripped apart by a bullet.

Shane was unconvinced. From what she'd shared with him about her intense writing process, she couldn't blame him.

"C'mon, there's gotta be more than that."

"Not really."

He got exasperated. "What kind of research?"

"You know, Google." Mitchie cringed at her answer. She was tired, weak and trembling; her mind couldn't get it together to play this off as it should. Instead, Mitchie turned into an easy target, and she floundered for an excuse to cut this call short.

"Please? I'm begging here."

"I'm telling you all there is."

"How come I share everything about my life to you, while I don't even know your damn favorite color? You can't even tell me this?"

"It's blue."

"That's great. That's fucking brilliant."

"Look, Shane. I'm not fighting with you over this."

"I've been trying to be a better guy here, Mitchie, but you gotta meet me halfway. You agreed to help me, and here I am, just asking how'd you make these chapters. That's_ all_."

_"I. Did. Research."_

"Give me a link, anything!" He exploded. Mitchie froze in her dark living room, her thumb millimeters away from the light switch. "Goddammit, I'm playing _your_ character!"

"Well, then do your job. _Act it out_." She met his fire with fire.

"Oh._ Really_."

"Yes, really."

"Wow. So you can push information out of me, but when I ask you the simplest thing, you just up? That's not hypocritical of you at all."

She practically growled into the phone. "Shane-"

"Don't. Don't give me a placating speech. I don't even know why I fucking asked."

"You know what," her mouth sprout out before she could stop it. "You're right. I didn't research shit on Google."

"That's-"

"I didn't research because I didn't have to. Because I was fucking shot." She was met with silence. "Satisfied? I was a sixteen-year-old girl at the corner market, buying popcorn, of all things, and a high drug dealer from across the neighborhood stormed in with a semi-automatic rifle and showered the whole place with bullets. I was fucking there, okay? That sharing enough for you?"

He didn't speak for a long time; Mitchie almost hung up, energy flowing like lava through her veins, yet her heart as heavy as lead, when he spoke again.

"I'm sorry. I had no idea."

Shane's voice was quiet and serious. Mitchie gave a shaky exhale. She could imagine him running his fingers through his hair and the torn expression on his face.

"I'm an idiot. I'm sorry."

"You already said that."

"I don't know what else to say. I just wish I was in NY right now."

"Yeah, me too."

"So that you could slap me silly?" He unknowingly gave her an out.

"Probably, yes."

Saying it aloud, admitting her past to someone, took a big weight off her shoulders. It was a terrible, terrible thing to happen to someone so young; it'd tainted her, aged her, hardened her. Mitchie stopped dreaming and planning and had to start doing; she lost her rose-colored lenses and started to see the real, unpleasant things with cynicism.

"Mitchie?"

"Hm?" She answered. Fight had completely faded from her; she felt empty and drained now.

"What- what happened to the shooter?"

"He went to jail. Two other people were shot, and my elderly neighbor died in the spot."

"Long sentence?"

"Yes."

"Good." He replied. All edge had fallen from his tone. "I'm glad you're alive."

She didn't know how to respond to that. "Hm. Thanks. I don't really wanna talk about this anymore."

"Okay. Maybe you should go to sleep."

"I'm not really that tired."

"I can hear the exhaustion in your voice. Your answers are as delayed as the fifth Pirates of the Caribbean movie."

"Congratulations on the comparison." Mitchie fought the surprising urge to laugh. It wouldn't be the happy kind of laugh anyway. "Fine, I'll do that."

He wished her good dreams somberly and hung up. She stared at her phone for a moment, trying to decide whether this impromptu confession was a great development or the worst decision she'd ever made.

In the end, sleep overcame her, and she fell back into bed for a dreamless slumber.


	15. Fifteen

Three days before Christmas, Mitchie got a call from Caitlyn. She informed her, with a great deal of satisfaction, that they were ahead of schedule, and so they were coming back for the holiday and then back to California afterwards. But this time, CRP and the Studio wanted her to tag along, for publicity reasons.

Mitchie was glad; she'd pestered Jason nonstop since they left. Filming would last more two to three months, all of which she wanted to be present for.

Going back for the holidays also meant she'd face Shane for the first time since her confession- which made her want to hide under her couch and jump from the Empire State Building at the same time.

It was with a daunting feeling of dread that she woke up in December 23rd to pick her best friend up at the airport. Ella was coming too; she blabbered at Mitchie's ear the whole ride about how awesome the movie costumes had turned out, how ecstatic she was that Mitchie's second book was doing well in the market and how much she anticipated the last one. These were usually topics that'd turn Mitchie into a talking machine, yet she could only answer with nods and humming.

Thankfully, the cast and crew were coming in two different planes. Caitlyn waved, enthusiastic, when she spotted them by the waiting line, and catapulted into Mitchie's unsuspecting arms with her loads of baggage. It was by sheer luck that Mitchie managed to stay standing.

"I missed you so much!" Caitlyn said, pulling away to look at her. "You need to eat more, honey, you look thin."

"I'm fine, Ace," Mitchie replied, stretching the nickname while Caitlyn and Ella hugged. "Besides, I'm gettin' plenty of weight this Christmas."

"You're spending Christmas with my family," Ella said. "No go-backs. Mom makes a mean turkey."

"Turkeys are creatures of evil." Mitchie grumbled. "Caitlyn, help me with these bags."

"Wait, we're going already, Joker? Not gonna wait for Shane?"

"We didn't make plans. I'm goin' to call him later, though."

Caitlyn made no comment, but she clearly disapproved. But, as Caitlyn was prone to do, she shrugged it off in less than twelve seconds and struck up a conversation surrounding the mystical being that was Dana's girlfriend and how they could make her introduce her to them.

* * *

After dropping Caitlyn and Ella at their respective houses and waiting in traffic for what seemed like eternity, Mitchie got home as the clock struck noon. She shed her heavy coat while debating whether or not she should call Shane.

Cowardice won. Mitchie picked up her laptop. A part of her - the responsible, adult part of her - insisted she should at least text him, but the voice was quickly drowned out by the surge of ideas she had.

She sat and wrote on her kitchen counter for about three hours when her doorbell rung. Pausing to make sure she'd actually heard something, Mitchie saved her work and slowly made her way to the door.

An impulsive smile came to her face as she opened the door and found Nate on the other side. Her heart still hammered, however, because she'd been certain it would be Shane on the other side. And truthfully, despite living in the same city, Mitchie missed her little brother.

"Hey." She said, giving him a strong hug. Nate was taken aback for a split second, then hugged her back.

"Hey, Joker." He replied as he let her go. "Why the warm welcome?"

He looked so smug and adorable that Mitchie couldn't resist pinching his cheeks. "Because I'd forgotten how cute my lil' bro was. Anyway, I trust this isn't a family call?"

They moved to sit at her kitchen counter again. Nate pulled out his phone and silenced it, turning to her with serious eyes. He crossed his arms and curled into himself, cluing her into his discomfort. She knew what this was about, now.

"Mom's getting worse."

Mitchie inhaled sharply. "They said it was slowing down-"

"They were wrong." He shook his head. Nate looked older, tired, more mature. It made Mitchie want to gather him up in her arms and shield him from reality, like she'd done when they were younger. "It's rapidly progressing. She can still eat, go to the bathroom and things like that, but- but she's confusing day and night. She refers to some nurses as if they were you, and last time I visited her, she asked me how school was."

"I know. She asked me that too."

They looked at each other with wariness beyond their years. The Torres siblings had had a hard time and its members were crumbling under the decision they were asked to make- something no child should ever have to decide.

At last, Mitchie sighed. "Talk to the doctor. See what he thinks is best. We'll go from there."

"I will."

Mitchie reached out and grasped his hand, keeping her eyes on his. "We'll get through this, okay? He always do."

He nodded. Then he shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Do you mind if I stay over? My place feels kinda empty."

"Sure. You can take the guest bedroom."

They circled the counter and stepped back into each other's arms; Mitchie ran her hand over his back like he was ten again, and then let him go. Nate almost said something, but he gave up and went to his room for the night. Mitchie stood in her kitchen, holding a dishrag, staring at her phone by the computer blink '_Text from Shane_' for a long while.


	16. Sixteen

**Lots of stuff happens in this chapter. Thank you for your reviews, guys! And also, Yaeliz, I read yours after I wrote this one- it's still short. But I'll try to make them longer from now on (:**

* * *

_"Can we meet up for coffee at four tomorrow? I'll pay."_

The text set camp in her thoughts for most of the day and night. Nate watched television and engaged in deep conversations about the problems with YA novels and their portrayals with Mitchie, yet he noticed something was on her mind. He didn't ask, probably assuming it was about their mother, and they spent the day reciting all Harry Potter movies line by line.

Shane was nervous. He was nervous about meeting her. His text was grammatically correct and he'd used zero abbreviations- obviously, something had changed.

At around eleven at night, with Nate snoring loudly in the background, Mitchie sat up on her bed and stared at her phone.

She hadn't replied yet.

She hadn't replied because she was scared to death.

Shane could be uncomfortable and trying to fix their friendship out of pity, or he could be planning to let her know he was disgusted or overwhelmed and didn't want to talk to her anymore. The latter would fit the media's portrayal of Shane Gray perfectly, and the flash of rudeness in their phone conversation.

But she knew he wasn't that kind of guy anymore. Mitchie knew sometimes he tended to act superior and condescending, when talking to waitresses or taxi drivers, and she was always quick to call him out. This occurred less and less over the month.

He had a big heart, too. He donated money anonymously to various campaigns and organizations; he listened attentively to every fan he came in contact with and cheered Mitchie up whenever she had writer's block or just a bad day. Shane retained information about other people, and used it to put them at ease or unintentionally remind them that he was a different guy now.

As much as he insisted she had, Mitchie knew she hadn't done most of the work. Shane visibly regretted his behavior to his colleagues in the past, and now he strove to change their opinions of him. Always taking time to help and talk things out with anyone who needed it.

But what about this? How was he going to react around the knowledge that Mitchie unwittingly gave away? Was he going to act as superstar Shane Gray, or plain Shane?

Mitchie took a deep breath and picked up her phone.

_"All right. Usual spot."_

* * *

Shane was waiting when she got there. He'd already ordered their coffees.

"Hi." He said when she sat down. "How are you?"

A warm wave of relief passed through her. His face was visibly red, his ears too, and his hands tore at a napkin. He looked young, his actual age, and kind of antsy.

"Hey," she said with amusement clear on her tone. His features softened considerably. "I'm fine. You?"

"Great."

She took a sip of her coffee. Still hot. "How was filming?"

"Jason said we're ahead of schedule- but Caitlyn's already told you that, didn't she? She mentioned you were picking her up at the airport. My plane got here two hours after hers; there were some problems with the landing. We sort of spun around New York for an hour-"

"Shane," Mitchie laughed, covering his hand with hers. "Don't be nervous."

He slumped, dejected, and pouted. Mitchie thought he looked adorable.

"I screwed up. I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to demand information like that."

"You were right. We're friends. It's okay if you want to ask me things."

"But not like that."

"Yeah. I felt like you were interrogating me."

"Sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

"Sor- okay."

Mitchie laughed out loud; a bright, bell-like sound that merged perfectly with the noisy cafe. "Tell you what," she said. "If you buy me a cookie, we'll call it even."

"But I bought your coffee!" He flagged down a waiter while she smiled at him.

Sun streaked through the windows and hit his profile; his angled jaw and the small skin imperfections in his face. He was strikingly good-looking. When he turned back to her, Mitchie had to check herself so she wouldn't start counting all his freckles and beauty marks. Which reminded her of something.

She gazed at him with curiosity. "Something's changed."

"What?" He touched his face immediately. "Oh, I shaved."

"Oh. I've always assumed your face was simply dirty."

"Wow. Funny." He said dryly. "I'd grown it out for post-trauma Jesse scenes. Since it's at the end of the movie, we taped it first and now I'm baby-faced again."

"Well, I'm glad you don't look like a homeless person anymore."

"When I left, I looked fine."

"Caitlyn sent me a picture of you on set. You looked terrible. I'm proud."

"That how you imagined the character."

"Yes. You're doing a good job." His face instantly lit up. "Don't let it go to your head, popstar."

"I'm not a popstar."

"We're not having this conversation." Mitchie snorted.

"You're really good at destroying my self-esteem, you know." Shane replied. "At one point, you're telling me I'm a good actor, then you're telling me I'm not a great musician."

"Just tryna keep you on your toes. Making sure your ego's in check."

"Someone has to." He conceded with a shrug. "Well, there's always Caitlyn to ask for compliments."

"You're friends now?"

She wasn't jealous. She was _not_.

"Yeah. She's nice, even if weirder than you."

He swallowed and fiddled with the rim of his cup. For some reason, Shane had grown restless again. From the way he glanced at her, she could only assume it was about her past or something around Caitlyn.

If he asked her about Caitlyn, she, swear to _God_, would chuck the rest of her cookie at his face.

Mitchie just hummed in response and chugged down the rest of her coffee.

"If you want to ask me something, Shane, just do it."

He flipped his hand, from where hers still enveloped his, and entwined their fingers. "I'm afraid of the answer." He spoke carefully.

"Is it about me gettin' shot?"

"Don't say it like that."

Mitchie put her other hand on top of his and leaned forward. "Is it?"

"Not particularly." He said, clearing his throat. "I don't know how to word this."

"Then tell me later."

She ate her cookie in silence and Shane finished his coffee. He played with a ring on his left hand, moved around in his seat, blinked and avoided her eyes. Apprehension pooled in her stomach. Mitchie quickly filled the silence.

"I've got a meeting with Brown; he wants my two newer chapters today."

"You're close to the end, then?"

"Yeah, just two more and I'm done."

"Oh."

"Why're you upset?"

"I'm a fan. Remember?"

"Actually, I'd forgotten." Her phone chirped with a text from Brown. "Look, I've gotta bounce. Bye, popstar."

She left a ten-dollar bill and left without an answer- she really was late. Probably shouldn't even had accepted the coffee invitation. Before she could hail a cab or go to the metro, someone grabbed her forearm.

"Go out with me? After Christmas?"

Mitchie pivoted to face Shane, wide-eyed and incredulous. "What?"

"Like on a date. Go out with me on a date. Would you?" His face was flushed, but determined, and his phrases came in staccato bursts.

"_Me_?"

"Well, yes."

"Where is this coming from?" She asked, lost.

"You told me about the shooting, and I thought- it just came to me- I care a lot about you, Mitchie. As in more than a friend. Romantically." He looked positively handsome in his black coat, messy hair and red cheeks. Her insides turned into mush.

She ducked her head, a shy, yet brilliant smile showing under the curtain of hair. "Have I ever really stood a chance against you?"

"What?"

"I'd love to go on a date with you, Shane." Mitchie breathed at last.

His face turned from hopeful to delighted. "Really? Um, great. Awesome. I'll call you later. Yeah."

She let out an enchanting laugh. "All right. Later, Shane."

Pursing her lips in an effort to keep from grinning, Mitchie watched him walk away, almost bounce, and disappear among the throngs of New Yorkers. Her phone chimed again and she forced herself to turn the opposite way from him and walk.


	17. Seventeen

"Caitlyn, stop screaming. I'm driving."

"But you're going on a date with Shane! Shane _Gray_!"

Ella let out a laugh from the backseat. They were on their way to Ella's parents' house, for their Christmas dinner. They saw Caitlyn and Mitchie as surrogate daughters, and demanded their presence every year. Considering how good Mrs. Pador's food was, they didn't have a problem with it.

"Did you talk about it?" Ella asked.

Mitchie blushed a little. "He thinks it's better if we go when we're already in California. Tomorrow we're flying back, anyway. Probably in the 27th."

"Jason owes me fourteen dollars," Caitlyn said, self-satisfied.

"You were _betting_ on us?"

"Hell yes. Most of the cast was, actually. There was a pool."

"Oh, God. I'm supposed to be their_ boss_."

"Dana started it." Caitlyn informed her. "She noticed you were both texting at the same time during the preliminary meeting, and Shane's face when you left... She bet you'd take at least 'til January."

"I said you wouldn't go out until February."

"Wow. Have a little faith, Ella."

"At least I didn't say you'd never go out. That was Hank Copely."

"Hank said that?" Mitchie faked a gasp. "Wow. I'm _so_ suing him."

* * *

The Padors lived in a small, homely house in a quiet town in New Jersey. The front garden was always impeccable, the cars clean, and the windows shining. It looked remarkably common, nothing outside betraying the complexity of the family inside.

Ella was the first to move out, when she got into Pratt for her Fashion Design program, and lived in a sublet for the better part of her course. Ella's siblings, Ed and Eve, who were twenty and eighteen, respectively, still lived with their parents. Ed was an aspiring musician, who played alternative music with some of his friends; he'd dyed his hair bright blue two years ago, and wore hoodies all the time. Eve was studying Aerospace Engeneering at MIT, which gave an outlet for her extremely high IQ and active brain; but to balance that out, she was shy and lacked basic social skills. Thankfully, living with Ella gave her some idea of what she should and shouldn't do.

Mrs. Pador was a vibrant woman. She had Ella when she was fresh out of high school, but she didn't resent it at all. In fact, Mrs. Pador loved spending a good part of her life with her children. She had a catering business on the side, developed after Ed turned fifteen, and it was doing well. Mr. Pador was a bit on the quiet side, like Eve, but he loved his job, being CEO of a media company located in Manhattan. This meant he spent a good time of his life being away from his family, but he tried coming home every weekend.

They were such a weird bunch that Mitchie had trouble keeping up with them; Ella, Mrs. Pador and Ed were very extroverted, and pulled everyone into conversation constantly. She loved it; they were the closest thing she had to a family these days.

Seconds after she pulled up in front of the house, Mrs. Pador opened the door and opened her arms dramatically. They all got out of the car and went inside, greeted with enthusiastic hugs and yelling from the living room. Mrs. Pador's full, curly hair tickled Mitchie's face as she let her go.

"How are you?" She asked Mitchie with a motherly smile. "Anything new?"

"Well, they're turning my book into a movie," she responded cautiously. "But other than that-"

"Mitchie's got a date next week," Caitlyn announced.

"_Ace!_"

"Mitchie's dating?" Ed showed up from the kitchen and hugged Mitchie with such enthusiasm that he lifted her off the ground. He then looked down at her, for he was a few centimeters taller, with an eyebrow raised. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Wow, Ed, you really know how to flatter a girl."

They moved further inside. The Pador living room was tiny, but not cramped. Two soft couches, perfect for sinking into, were the main point of the room. They had a TV at the office room upstairs, but the living room was simply for talking and using the worn piano at the left corner. Surprisingly, this was the most used room in the house.

On top of the old, unused fireplace, Mitchie spotted some family pictures. She sat down, squashed between Ed and Caitlyn, and noticed an art project made by Ella at kindergarten hung on the hallway.

"I heard shouting and I figured it was you," Eve said with a gentle smile, leaving the kitchen. Her brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, a pair of browline glasses perched on her nose, and a slightly wrinkled sweater. Her glasses matched Mitchie's, who'd forgone contacts because her eyes were irritated that morning.

"Hey, Eve," Caitlyn replied easily, "How's the course going? You're still top of the class?"

"Yes."

"Good job, sis." Ella held her sister closely after she sat. "Keep kicking ass."

"Language, Ella." Her mother scolded lightly. "Where's Julio?"

"Here." Mr. Pador said. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel before greeting Caitlyn and Mitchie. "What's this I hear about Mitchie having a date?"

Mitchie groaned, mortified. "I hate all of you."

They spent all afternoon teasing Mitchie and trying to pull information out of her. Caitlyn zipped her lips when asked, and Ella was having the time of her life watching Mitchie grow redder and redder with time.

Everyone filled in and out of the room, but it was never completely empty. Sometimes Mrs. Pador went to check on her food, or Mr. Pador excused himself to take a call. Eve soon pulled up a book and started reading, before she timidly started asking Mitchie's opinions on common interests, like literature and history. Ella, Caitlyn and Ed bickered and prodded at each other, but frequently discussed deeper subjects. One of the best things about this family, was that they were all interested in _everything_, from politics to pop culture, and they enjoyed a balanced argument, even if it went against their own.

It was around seven when Mrs. Pador, at last, asked Mitchie who her date was. She stammered a bit, but spoke. "It's- um, you know him- Shane Gray."

Mr. Pador's eyebrows formed a thick line above his eyes. "Who?" He asked, at the same time as Ed exclaimed, "The singer?"

"That's right."

"But he's a jerk!" Ed said. Mitchie pursed her lips, bothered by the affirmation of Shane's previous image.

"He's not a jerk anymore." Ella was quick to defend him. "He's been trying really hard to be a better person."

"With a little help from someone," Caitlyn quipped, poking Mitchie's ribs. "Right?"

"Oh, shut up." Mitchie said. "But yeah, he's better. And we've been friends for a while."

"Is he treating you all right?" Mr. Pador asked, pulling up a chair to sit by Eve's place. He looked like a proper, over-protective father, and it made Mitchie smile instantly.

"Yes. Very well."

Mrs. Pador peeked out of the kitchen and waved her spatula at Mitchie's general direction. "I want to meet this boy."

"_Jesus._"

"Don't be so dramatic," Eve consoled her with a twinkle in her eye. "They'd be as invested as they are now if your brother finally asked Ella out."

"Don't turn this into me!"

"But it's true," Eve countered. "God knows he's taking too long."

"Agreed." Mitchie and Caitlyn said in unison.

* * *

Nate arrived shortly before eight, his demeanor reserved but looser than usual. No one gave presents at the Pador residence during Christmas; they were usually shared a few days after. Christmas for them was essentially about being with family and enjoying their company.

Dinner was loud and generous; the Pador were big on talking and were overflowed with information they liked to share. Ed talked about a possible record deal - not with Lava Records, thankfully - and Eve about some possible internships she could take without having to quit her education. Mr. Pador was an endless source of dry humor, and when he was busy eating, Mrs. Pador told funny stories concerning her children and their friends.

At some point, conversation split between two main groups; Mr. and Mrs. Pador talked with Eve and Ella, while the others jumped from subject to subject.

"Now that you're finishing the trilogy, what you're planning to do next?" Ed asked around a mouthful of turkey.

"I've got a few ideas, but I'm waiting for the end of the publicity deals and things like that for the second, so that I can work them out. Not another sci-fi book, however."

"No more aliens?" Nate asked, close to sulking.

"Yeah, Natey, sorry. I know how you are about aliens."

"Even though they aren't real," Caitlyn said breezily, knowing she'd opened a can of worms.

"Hey!" Ed and Nate protested at the same time.

"Aliens are real and here, okay?"

Mitchie hid a grin behind her hand. "I know, guys."

"Oh, please." Caitlyn shook her head. "Don't abandon me on this, Joker."

"You started it."

"When we prove they're real, you'll see your fate," Ed raised his fork in a way intended to be menacing, but just looked silly. "Unbeliever."

"I'm so making you watch Star Wars again." Mitchie said gleefully.

"_No._" Caitlyn paused to consider. "Wait. It's got Harrison Ford. I'll watch it."

She high-fived her friend. Nate shook his head, but chuckled.

"Now, speaking about movies," Mrs. Pador jumped in. "How's yours coming along?"

"We're heading back early tomorrow to keep shooting." Ella said with no little amount of pride. "I'm coming along because Jason asked me to."

"Is Nate coming?"

"No, I'm not," Nate said. "I'm staying because Mitchie's delivering the first draft this week and I have to supervise CRP's proofreading."

"Sounds boring." Ed chirped.

"It is." Nate nodded sagely.

"I wish you luck, bro." Caitlyn's smirk mirrored Mitchie's. He narrowed his eyes at both of them.

"But, seriously, thank you for being my agent. Otherwise, I'd have to endure Tess and Brown at the same time." Mitchie visibly shook. "Terrible."


End file.
